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| Surely, you jest? Potential wife?; Ickle LC | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 22 2011, 11:18 PM (281 Views) | |
| William Spencer | Mar 22 2011, 11:18 PM Post #1 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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Late 1508 William Spencer, Viscount Dorchester, was rather enjoying the evening in the Great Hall, having found some of his amiable acquaintances and friends to play cards with in a far corner. Cards was the prime way by which Dorchester increased his money to something a bit more acceptable for his station. His grandfather was miserly with the allowances! He liked William to know that he was completely dependent upon him. His elbows, covered in a fine blue and black doublet, met the tabletop, and he eyed his cards. "I shall raise you," he said, with a simple nod, to the older young man sitting across from him. And two more were out. Things were looking rather grand at the moment. A nice night's amusement and profit! However, that was short-lived, for no sooner did he win the hand than his grandfather showed up with a loud clearing of the throat. Dorchester craned his head over his shoulder and looked up. "My lord," he greeted, tentatively. "Dorchester, a word..." the man said back to him, and he knew his pleasant night was at an end when he further continued, "Gentlemen, Dorchester is quite done for the evening." And then the man scooped up his coin winnings! His mouth almost dropped gaping open instead of simply parting in shock as he stood up. There was no use in protestation, it would only earn him a smack, even aged nineteen. Without a word the man handed him back almost exactly what he had started with and kept the rest. As soon as they were away from earshot, his grandfather stopped and turned on him, and Dorchester blinked. He almost always had a minor startle to any fast movements from the man. It came from getting a hand to his face too often. "The Willoughby girl, you will be productive and go dance with her, as she would be a good match for you, but I wish to know she is of good temperament to produce dutiful children," the man said, plainly, as if speaking nothing at all. Indeed, the man seemed to approach it like shopping at a market, and he would not proceed without inspection. Dorchester's mouth, which had closed after his money got taken, now opened yet again. Then it looked like he was trying to find words. The Willoughby girl? Girl was right. What could she be? 14? Not that such a thing particularly bothered him, but a slight bit older was preferable. He found he favoured a bit of experience. Not that he was thinking about bedding the girl, but when he was to dance with someone, he usually liked to find them attractive and arousing. He was not so sure the fiery-mouthed Willoughby girl was going to have a prayer of accomplishing that particular feat. But a good match? Potential for dutiful children? He had some hope of remaining unmarried. How easily his grandfather spoke of such things as if inspecting stock! Money stolen, pleasurable night ended, and now he had to go dance with a young girl likely without curve or attraction - not to mention the nice, sharp tongue and petulance. Apparently, she was someone his grandfather would consider as his...wife. Even that thought was foreign. They had been thrown together a few times and while friendly, he just was not keen on being ordered off to go dance with the baroness. At this moment, it did not matter who she was, the circumstances of how he was asked and ordered had soured him. "Did you not hear me?" his grandfather asked him that as if he was being completely stupid. He pulled in his lower lip for a second and then nodded, "Yes, my Lord, I heard you, and yes I will gladly go dance with her." Would that he would actually mean those words! He gave the man a short bow and turned and walked off before anything else could be said between them. His blue eyes sought out the younger lady and then finally found her. Once he saw her, he could not feel annoyed or cross with her, and he felt a bit guilty. He did not mind a dance with her in the least, but he was entirely vexed with his grandfather. Coming up along her side, he gave her a respectful nod and a small smile, "Lady Willoughby." At least being in her company got him away from his grandfather. "How are you finding yourself this evening? Happy to be far away from horses?" Dorchester smiled and folded his hands behind his back as he looked as some of the people dancing. |
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| Catherine Willoughby | Mar 23 2011, 12:07 AM Post #2 |
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vérité sans peur
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Nearly fifteen, and hating every moment she was at court, even though it was Christmastime, Catherine Willoughby was loitering around like the sulky teenager she was, dragged here by her mother who spent too much time here instead of home where she belonged. Dressed in a ruby red gown for the season, probably because her mother wanted people to pay attention to her in such a vivid color, she instead stuck around with those she knew: Margaret and Mary Shelton, friends she could talk to. But oh no, her mother wanted her. Lady Willoughby was staring at her daughter with hard blue eyes, crooking a finger for her to come, so Catherine disregarded her friends and walked over. "Don't slouch, you look like a peasant," her mother said immediately and Catherine obeyed. Mary nodded approvingly. "Better, much better. You know, you could look a little more cheerful, Catherine, it is Christmas and you are lucky I have brought you here for it." "I'd rather be at home," admitted the girl truthfully, looking away from her mother to the throngs of people. Some were behaving so scandalously! It was shocking to her, the things she noticed now that she was older. "I do not want to be about people like this." Her mother shrugged. The girl's opinion was inconsequential. Life for her was to be at court one of these days, if she could ever find a position for her daughter, instead of leaving her languishing at Grimsthorpe Castle with occasional visits. She was nearly fifteen, a good age to learn service and patronage. And a good age to snag a husband, which was one reason she was here. "Your place is to be here, with me," said Mary, stating facts. "It doesn't matter what you want, Catherine, you know that. There is someone I wish for you to spend some time with." Her mother spoke so casually, Catherine was still shocked at the words, sending a sharp look her mother's way. "Who?" She could guess well enough why, but who? Who did she have in mind? No wonder she was at court! Was her mother trying to broker some deals behind her daughter's back? Would she come out of this Christmas betrothed? Oh, dear God, she hoped not. She knew girls were married off at twelve, even, the canonical age, but that seemed too harsh and young to her. "The Viscount Dorchester. You remember him, don't you?" Mary was smirking. "He taught you to ride a few years ago." Catherine remembered. "The one you shouted at and the one who I was so terrible to?" she asked, feeling vaguely sheepish. "Why him? Please don't say you want me to marry him!" She was relieved when her mother shook her head and just said, "No, but perhaps; be polite to him. Be the pretty, polite, proper girl I've raised you to be. I know you can do it, you've been doing it all week." Catherine made a face. She hated this play-acting but it worked, keeping her eyes down, acting shy, because truthfully, she was shy. She was terrified of doing or saying the wrong thing, now that she was older and truly knew what consequences came from being so free with one's words and temper. "Yes, my lady mother." She wasn't surprised when her mother dispersed, and here was Dorchester, looking just about the same as she remembered. When he greeted her, she didn't know what to say. In a flurry she curtsied, almost having forgotten what to do. "Lord Dorchester," she said politely, trying to remember if she had insulted him or something along those lines when she had met him. Not that she could recall, so she didn't need to feel guilty, or feel pressured into being particularly sweet to him. "Well enough, but tonight is boring, isn't it? I think you probably were doing something more interesting than talking to me." Oh, so he had to bring up horses. She snorted. "I always am, my lord, although at least thanks to you I can ride without looking too foolish. You should be proud, I haven't yet fallen off, it must be due to your lessons so long ago." There was sarcasm in her voice, but nothing as bad as she was wishing she could say or do. She felt her mother's eyes on the two of them, so she was going to at least act somewhat nice, so she smiled. |
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[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me." Catherine is in 2 threads. [/align] | |
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| William Spencer | Mar 23 2011, 12:45 PM Post #3 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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And there was the tongue, and not in the way Dorchester preferred tongue from a lady. He could not help but smirk, because it still amused him. He gave a firm nod as he looked out over the room as he stood next to her. "Indeed I was. I was playing at cards and won a fair sum. That was before my esteemed grandfather swooped in and took my winnings, informed my friends I was leaving their game, and ordered me to come make niceties with you." He gave a soft, amused huff-like snort and shook his head just a bit. There was still a smile on his face, and it was an honest one. Dorchester had a feeling this quipping, overly honest girl would appreciate those same characteristics in him. If not, he could hardly care. It was not like he wanted to lay any of his own encouragement to his own marriage, regardless of the young ladies who were possibilities. "From the way your lady mother is keeping a surreptitious eye on us as well, shall I make the assumption that a similar thing has crossed your ear?" Dancing. Dancing was so much grander in France. The current dance was a rather spiritless bit of musical drivel, slow and exceedingly chaste. In a word, boring. "I cannot help but wonder, Lady Willoughby, if that offer of giving me a house is still valid, it seems your lady mother might be intent on giving them all to me!" He let out a bit of light-hearted chuckling. It was not in Dorchester's nature to be rude or mean of manner. He could not help that he had a sharp wit and swift tongue. "Shall we dance to please them, or shall we make them wait agonizingly long before we acquiesce to our responsibilities?" He chanced moving his eyes to her mother to see if she was still ever-present. His grandfather was looming. William could feel his eyes somewhere. A half-smile planted on his face, he put on enough of a pleasant show for the onlookers. |
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| Catherine Willoughby | Mar 28 2011, 08:04 PM Post #4 |
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vérité sans peur
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Brows rising questioningly at his gambling habits, Catherine snorted, not at all in amusement, but rather with disdain of a good girl who wasn't even allowed to play card games. Not for money, at any rate. "Too bad for you that your small fortune was taken away but I am sure there would be better ways for you to find one," she quipped, "than in a game set upon stealing from others based on chance." She gave him a smile that made her eyes sparkle. "But I am glad you were so forced to come see me, thank you for telling me that; I appreciate it because obviously you would much prefer being at the gambling tables than talking to a lady. I am not so interesting compared to gambling for I am not so free with myself or my money." Not like she had command of her vast fortune, which she never saw head or tail of, but she did know she could say whatever she wanted. He found her amusing. Maybe. Oh, well, the young baroness never worried about what to say to him. She had no filter and could utilize it instead of policing every word out of her mouth as she did at court. She did, however, look surprised by his other comment. "My lady mother did wish for me to see you, or at least, be polite. I fear I am not so good at being polite but we can have fun conversation, can we not?" Catherine was still smiling. "Much better than me being bored out of my skull at my lady mother's side while she criticizes me for slouching." Mentioning dancing, she made a little face, lips pursing and nose wrinkling like a child being told to do something she did not want to do. And then! Marriage! Is that what he was speaking of? "Oh!" Her blue eyes were big in her face. "Giving you my houses? You think that is what they are after, having us speak?" Though she liked him, and though she was of marriageable age, Catherine never much thought about it. The idea frightened her. "I would hope not..." Her gaze shifted from William to her mother who was not looking in their direction; instead she was speaking to some other women. "I do not like dancing," admitted Catherine when she brought her attention back to William, not at all apologetic. "I am not good at it, so let us make them sweat, maybe make them think we do not get on at all." Her smile was wry. "If my lady mother expected me to dance I am sure she expects me to make sure I look like a good dancer, just like I was supposed to look like a good rider when you tried to teach me." |
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[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me." Catherine is in 2 threads. [/align] | |
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| William Spencer | Mar 28 2011, 08:50 PM Post #5 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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William allowed her comment about making fortunes by stealing from others in a game of chance to slide off of him. He merely plastered on a smile, his hands folded behind his back, as he looked out over the dancers. He turned to her just in time to see her eyes get that sparkle-glint. Sang Dieu! Women, even the wee ones, and their eyes and glances and meanings. He let out an amused huff and puffed out his chest a bit dramatically, drawing himself up to her full height, and looking disinterested, "Clearly." He meant that in both ways as well. That he would much prefer being at the gambling tables and that she was not as interesting because she was not as free. He was taking the piss out of her of course. All in jest. It could have been worse, his grandfather could have been forcing him to talk to, or marry, a very boring girl. "You are contrary by nature, but I rather like it. It is...not so boring. It is almost like a game of chance, speaking to you," he replied, with a steady, easy tone, and a sly grin that came on at the peak of his words "Rest assured, My Lady, I would only criticize you for slouching if you were my wife." He could not help the retort. She had all but invited him to that, and he could surely not disappoint. "Oh ho! Now! The plot thickens," he said dramatically, as her eyes went wide. Dorchester was rather enjoying this, and he likely did not realize that their interaction looked pleasant and promising enough from a far eye. "You would hope not? Am I that mean of disposition or character?" Surely she did not find him common or lacking! He chuckled a bit. Poor girl. "I do believe so, but I do believe that my grandfather wishes to know if you are of proper disposition to pass down a pleasing temperament to our children." William pretended to hold back laughter as if it were a preposterous notion that she possibly good be. As if to say 'little does my grandfather know....' What now? He raised a brow at her. "Am I meant to help you with dancing as well now? Or do you doubt that I am a suitable partner?" Dorchester was a fairly popular dance partner among the young ladies. Apparently, the french men were more graceful and attractive dancers! He could not blame it! He brought a certain bella figura to the dance as the Italians would say. |
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| Catherine Willoughby | Apr 8 2011, 06:01 PM Post #6 |
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vérité sans peur
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She was, admittedly, enjoying herself, only because William Spencer did not seem irked by Catherine acting as herself instead of some pristine princess who was always prim and proper, never to say anything outlandish or worse rude. Had her mother been closer, she would have not been acting as she had around him. "A game of chance? Then you aren't so bored speaking to me after all," giggled the young baroness with bright eyes. "Except you will not win anything speaking to me. What a shame but it is better for your family fortune, isn't it?" Catherine wrinkled her nose at the word 'wife,' not liking the idea one bit. Whether her mother wanted her to be one or not, she did not at this point. She was only fifteen! Yes, of an age to marry, but what kind of wife would she be? A poor one. It was something she kept telling her mother, who just replied she hoped any eligible young man knew nothing of her saucy tongue. Once, she had said that her father liked her mother's wit--something Catherine surely inherited from her--and her mother just bristled at the insinuation. "I think if a husband chastises his wife for her posture he needs better things to do with his time," she opined. "If any man wishes to marry me he would do well to keep his nose in his own business and not bother me with stupid concerns as my mother does, for it is my mother's place, not a husband's!" Lower lip pouting out, she couldn't keep a straight face at his words. She supposed, if she thought about it, he wouldn't be so bad as a husband, but because she didn't want a husband at all, she didn't even want to think about it. "As you know and as my lady mother knows I am of no pleasing temperament to be a good wife," Catherine said cheerily with a smile, attitude not matching the words, considering not being, well, pleasing was a fairly bad thing. Every girl had one duty in life: to marry and have children. Admitting you weren't marriage material was tantamount to social suicide, but it was only to William. She could say it if she wanted. She was not speaking to her mother after all! "It is probably why she is so very desperate to get me away from her, so someone else can deal with me. I do not think you would wish to be the one to do so." "I am sure you could help me with dancing," she mused thoughtfully, "though your feet shall not forgive you. I cannot ride and I cannot dance. Well, I suppose I can do both, just not very well. I am a shame as a lady, am I not? All I can do well is a battle of wits and I fear that is not very lady-like." |
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[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me." Catherine is in 2 threads. [/align] | |
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| William Spencer | Apr 8 2011, 06:39 PM Post #7 |
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Lord Winchester (courtesy)
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William smiled slightly, noting the problem in her logic right away. His smile turned into a slow, sly grin, and the glint in his eyes held a definite mischief. "Au contraire, mademoiselle, I stand to win quite a larger sum that I ever would from the gambling table, so perhaps adding your family fortune to mine is not such a poor thing to gamble about?" He chuckled. Speaking to her was a gamble for the moment, but apparently there were potential rewards. William did not much care about such things concretely. From his understanding, his grandfather had much riches. Their family had managed not to suffer as much as most in the wars, and they had an old family. Nearly five-hundred years had accumulated things. Not to mention William was still the ultimate inheritor of his French family. He was not much concerned about his wealth. It was far more than he had thought to have, so it was all still very grand to him. The precursor to a guffaw was strangled in his throat, giving forth a strange burst of a controlled laugh at her words. "Well, My Lady, were you my wife, I would wish you to reflect well on me. At least as well as I do, and you do not see me slouching? Thus, as a husband I would think it quite my concern that you present yourself prettily and gracefully, as you are quite handsome when you do so." He said this all quite seriously, looking out over the crowds as if in perfect possession of himself, but he was really dying on the inside in insane hilarity. If his grandfather or her mother knew what was going through his mind! Sang Dieu![/v] He would be a dead man. "It is then my business as my honor is reflected in my wife, is it not? However, it is not for any man to thus criticize you, barring that he is your husband. As I am not, slouch all you wish and look very homely indeed, my dear." He held his very serious face for a slight bit of time. Enough to build to a tense crescendo before he let out a chuckle. "I am not sure what a pleasing temperament would be for me, in regards to a wife. Surely nothing so ornamental and boring as to send me straight to sleep," he gestured off to some of the brainless beauties that were huddling together looking like pretty little dressed up sculptures with large, watery eyes. "God's blood, no. Although were I to marry, my grandfather would have to grant me independent household, so there might yet be an incentive in this for me," Dorchester joked, quirking a brow at her. "Besides, my grandfather has said that he will gift me with what his father gave him when he was to take a wife..." he said, allowing it to build up before he informed her, "A very ornate whipping stool, with an overly kind cushion for the knees." He tried to keep his lips in a thin line despite the smile trying to explode his lips apart. He was dying to roar with laughter, but could hardly do such a thing in this repressed place. His lips quirked, "Well if you cannot ride, and you cannot dance, let us hope that metaphorically, you can do both quite well." His lips twitched more and then he broke out into a bit of a grin, skin still pulled tight to keep himself from looking like a grinning idiot to any onlookers. Riding and dancing were both terms that could be applied to many things more suiting to husband and wife, and the worth of a man or woman. |
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| Catherine Willoughby | Apr 13 2011, 08:13 PM Post #8 |
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vérité sans peur
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Him even speaking of having her family fortune, her inheritance, what was hers did not make Catherine happy. Instead if made her annoyed, evident immediately in the frown she gave him, not at all friendly and amusing anymore (despite her quips and verbal stabs to him). "That is no sum you would ever win," she snapped, "especially if you speak of it in such ways, as pointless as you spending time at the gambling table!" Ah, yes, do not insult the little heiress about her inheritance, or she will turn quite sour. Catherine's moods shifted so quickly it even surprised her sometimes, how she could be flippant one moment and filled with rage the next. At fifteen she could barely control it. It was a skill she would have to learn later when it would be more valuable to her. She snorted in annoyance, turning her head from him as if she were smelling something bad. "If a man wishes to ever me by husband I shall do as I please and he will learn to let me," Catherine said in her girlish, haughty voice, eyes flickering to William without much interest. She did not find any of this funny as he did; and anyway it was all talk. She knew she would probably be delegated to being a quiet, obedient, boring wife, something she did not want to do, simply because it would mean she could never wholly be herself. "And you say you do not want a wife like that but surely you will get one for that is all ladies must be: proper and dull!" Catherine was ready to be taken aback by his words, thanks to her temper rising, and it steadily did, but she just stared at him in shock, little mouth dropped open at his words. A whipping stool? Was he serious? Did men truly do such things? Instead of saying anything--funny considering she usually always had something to say--she just stared at him like a fish out of water, blue eyes large in her face in horror. The double entendre went completely over her innocent little sweet head. Catherine was a good girl, too naive, knowing nothing of such matters. There was no way she would understand William's metaphor. To her it was simply dancing and riding, nothing else. And why was he grinning like that? She was confused and still horrified at what he said about a whipping stool! "And they say I am impossible! You, my lord Dorchester, are worse." With a huff, no longer having an amusing conversation but feeling quite annoyed and left out of the joke, Catherine turned and stalked away from him, making sure her posture was picture perfect as she went to her mother to tell her that if she ever suggested William Spencer to be her husband she would be in such a temper... |
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[align=center]"I must shape my own coat according to my cloth, but it will not be after the fashion of this world but fit for me." Catherine is in 2 threads. [/align] | |
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6:26 AM Jul 11